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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360664">Takes You Away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedapilot/pseuds/SafetyHazard'>SafetyHazard (ineedapilot)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Dark Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Horror, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possession, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedapilot/pseuds/SafetyHazard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after MAG 22: Colony. Martin's woken up by Jon in the middle of the night after Jon stays late to take a visitor's statement - what could be the matter?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Takes You Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've just begun listening to The Magnus Archives and am midway through season 1 (finished MAG 22: Colony), and I'm already in love with Jon and Martin (I promise, despite what happens in this fic). I hope you enjoy!</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo">HeartlessMemo</a> for encouragement and helpful discussions!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He never thought it would end this way.</p><p>It had been a regular day at work - as regular as serving as Jon's assistant could be, what with living in the spare room at the Archives and the unholy threat of Jane Prentiss hanging over his head.</p><p>Honestly, Martin didn't mind it. He'd been spending more time with Jon than ever before, and despite the head archivist's chilly demeanor, Jon's offer of a safe harbor after his ordeal with the worms still echoed in Martin's head every night as he stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling of his room.</p><p>Jon had stayed late tonight, later than usual, in order to take a statement from an unexpected visitor. He'd dismissed Martin's offers of tea for himself and their guest. Martin had complied affably, leaving him to his task, and gone to bed, anticipating an early morning of chasing down leads regarding whatever horrors this new statement held.</p><p>--</p><p>He's awoken in the middle of the night by a click and a creak when the door to his room opens. The influx of light falls across his eyelids, tugging him away from slumber, and he blinks them open blearily to find a tall, slender form standing in the doorway. Jon's face is veiled in shadow, but Martin would recognize his boss's silhouette in any circumstance - even now, without his glasses in the blurry domain of night.</p><p>"Jon...?" he asks, voice hoarse with sleep, as the figure approaches. He leans off the bed and fumbles for his glasses on the floor nearby, putting them on in time to see Jon's slightly scuffed shoes come to a stop just inches away.</p><p>Martin swallows as he pulls himself back onto the bed, eyes tracing up Jon's body along the lanky lines of his legs and waistcoat-clad torso to his shrouded face, expression stern and still as always. His heart flutters in his chest while his mind races. <i>Why is he here? What could he want at this hour?</i></p><p>He knows it's likely nothing, some minor administrative task that Jon has deemed urgent enough to warrant dragging Martin out of bed in the dead of night. But in the back of his mind, he hopes that Jon is here for another reason - that he needs something that Martin can give him. Anything.</p><p>As he opens his mouth to speak, though, there's a flash of movement, and he finds himself pinned back against the threadbare mattress, Jon's long fingers digging painfully into his broad shoulders. "Wha-" Martin's eyes go wide, and he tries to sit up, but the strength holding him down isn't that of his wiry head archivist.</p><p>"Stay calm." The voice coming out of Jon's mouth isn't Jon's either.</p><p>"Jon? Pleas-<i>mmph</i>!" he's cut off by the crash of Jon's lips onto his own, claiming his mouth with bruising force. He's confused, disoriented by the strangeness of the situation, but at the same time, this is more than he'd ever imagined he could have from Jon. He groans, craning his neck forward to press desperately into the kiss.</p><p>Jon's tongue slips into his mouth, and Martin instantly stiffens. The texture is all wrong, slimy and cool when it should be rough and warm. He tries to pull back, but Jon follows him, and there's no space, his head is jammed against the pillow; his arms flail helplessly, pinioned by the sharp grip on his shoulders.</p><p>He's about to bite down on the wriggling invader when he feels something viscous flow, or possibly drip, down his throat. Suddenly, his body goes slack. His forearms flop heavily onto the bed, his jaw loosens, and he stares, stunned, as Jon - no, not Jon, this thing, <i>it</i> - straightens up with a leer that looks all wrong on Jon's face.</p><p>Martin can't lift a finger, can only watch while it silently begins to undress. Each new glimpse of Jon's skin - arms, chest, legs...genitals - sends shivers down his spine to his groin, where they pool and resonate, warring against the dread pounding in his chest.</p><p>Naked now, it steps forward. Martin's not dense, he can see what its intentions are, but there's nothing he can do except lay there, trapped in his own body, barely able to manage a whisper as he pleads with it to stop, to let Jon go.</p><p>It doesn't answer, and Martin's scattered thoughts settle on a terrible possibility. "...Jane?" he croaks. The thing shakes Jon's head, and Martin almost breathes out a sigh of relief.</p><p>Kneeling next to the bed, it flattens a hand over one of his pillowy pectorals, covered only in the thin cotton of his nightshirt. Its fingers are cool, Martin notes through the haze of fear and arousal, just like Jon's always are when they brush his while accepting a cup of tea. He's often nagged Jon to put on a coat in the chill of the Archives, but he never does. Did.</p><p>Those cool, thin fingers trail down across the soft swells of Martin's chest and belly and hook under the elastic band of his boxer briefs, drawing them steadily down until his half-hard cock is exposed, gently rising from the curly thatch of hair at his crotch. A furious blush colors his cheeks - he can't help it, not with Jon's bare body so near and that touch ghosting over his tender, yearning skin.</p><p>Martin whimpers, low in his throat, as it cups his balls, lifting the heavy sack, then presses its palm against his length, flattening his cock upward against his pubic pad and the underside of his paunch. It sneers when it feels Martin harden further, his mounting erection uninhibited by whatever substance it had used to subdue him.</p><p>Cold fingertips glide down across his perineum toward his hole, making him shiver, before withdrawing. The thing is considerate enough to pull his underwear off entirely, nails scraping across his ample buttocks and thick thighs. Discarding them on the floor, it climbs onto the bed and shoves Martin's legs apart, settling between them.</p><p>Dark eyes fixed on Martin's wide, fearful ones, it raises Jon's hand to its mouth, and Martin can't look away as more syrupy liquid trickles onto its fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut as it lowers its hand out of view beyond the arc of his gut, anticipating the pain that sparks a moment later when two fingers unceremoniously penetrate his hole.</p><p>A gasp chokes out through his relaxed vocal cords, and the thing leans forward, twisting the fingers of its free hand in his curls and bringing its lips to his ear. Its breath dances against his skin as it speaks.</p><p>"We don't seek to damage our lovely new vessel, but a little pain never hurt anyone." It chuckles at its little joke, a rasp that feels entirely unlike what Jon's laugh must be.</p><p>With a pang, Martin realizes that he's never actually heard Jon laugh before, and now, almost certainly, he never will. The thought makes hot tears spring to his eyes, and it's not long before they overflow and drip down his cheeks.</p><p>The thing, still stretching him open, smirks when it sees the gleaming rivulets on his face. "Not to worry. You'll soon be rid of those nasty emotions."</p><p>Finally, after what seems like simultaneously an eternity and an instant, its fingers withdraw from Martin's hole, leaving him unexpectedly bereft. It hoists his legs apart and lines itself up, and he manages to utter a single strangled sob before it impales him and a scream tries to tear its way out of his throat, stymied again by his drugged state.</p><p>After the initial blaze of pain, it's not so bad. The sensation quickly quietens to a dull ache as his stretched hole adapts to the thick intruder. A thought flits through Martin's mind that its makeshift lubricant is helping to deaden the discomfort.</p><p>It swiftly builds up a rapid pace, and as he's jolted and jostled by the force of its thrusts, Martin can't help but stare up at it, this thing wearing Jon's body, his face.</p><p>He feels like he should shut his eyes, but this vision is what he's longed for for so long, longer than he ever dared admit to himself. He can't deny himself at least the sight of 'Jon', firm hands gripping his calves to lift his legs up toward his shoulders, angular hips pistoning against his ass, voracious eyes burning with intention while it fucks him.</p><p>He's lost, Martin knows he's lost. Maybe everything is lost, torn suddenly and abruptly away. But the feeling of that cock filling him up, the touch of those cool hands on his body when they'd always shied firmly away, the powerful glare of those stern eyes - they're enough to coax his cock to full hardness, pointing straight as an arrow up from his crotch toward his boss, his violator, his...his master.</p><p>Beads of precum swell from his tip and dribble down his shaft, shining accusingly at Martin as he looks hazily down at himself, arms limp and useless at his sides. Maybe it's the fog of arousal, or maybe it's the knowledge that nothing matters anymore if this truly is the end, but Martin realizes that he's indifferent to, possibly even eager for, whatever is going to happen now. The thing- Jon- his master is fucking him, bringing him pleasure like a revelation.</p><p>He makes a decision. With a leaden tongue, he licks his lips, then parts them to whisper, "Kiss me. Please..."</p><p>His master's predatory gaze flickers, and something new passes behind its eyes, something resembling approval, perhaps. It smiles again, baring all its teeth. "As you wish," it purrs.</p><p>Not slowing its tempo, it props one of Martin's legs on its shoulder and leans forward. One cool finger brushes a sweat-slick curl out of his face, and it kisses him once more, gently this time, in a mockery of affection, almost as though it's relishing the touch of his lips.</p><p>Martin opens his mouth gladly, and when that slick substance slides over his tongue and down his throat again, he's hit with a wave of euphoria. Distantly, he senses his whole body tighten like a wound spring, and then...</p><p>Finally, blessedly, release. His cock twitches and pulses, spurting jets of milky white cum that paint his and his master's bellies. At the same time, the cock inside him erupts, and he's so far gone, so far away, that he barely registers that the cum filling him up doesn't feel anything like it should.</p><p>It feels like coiling fire and crackling lightning, like the stab of an icicle and the prick of a thorn. Like something's taking root inside him from within.</p><p>He lets out a rapturous sigh as its tendrils spread throughout him, coursing along veins and nerves; he's convulsing, his eyes rolling in his head, body wracked with pain, or what he knows should be pain.</p><p>But he's held in his master's arms, filled with his master's gift, and as he slips away from Martin, he takes comfort in the knowledge that he's being united with his master...reunited with Jon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! This is my first TMA fic, so any comments are extremely welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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